


Take What You Need

by persephades



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Dark, Dry Humping, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Incest Kink, Incest roleplay, Jealousy, Kink Meme, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, WTFfic, no actual incest, stripper!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephades/pseuds/persephades
Summary: She’d say her words were manipulative and selfish if she didn’t know that this was exactly what Bellamy wanted. Clarke probably shouldn’t be getting this much out of these visits, but Bellamy liked being needed and feeling wanted. And she was just giving her big brother what he deserves… a baby sister who loves him.For the Kink Meme prompt: stripper!Clarke where Bellamy comes in and asks her to put on a brunette wig and let him call her Octavia





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> finally got around to writing more of this like i promised on the kink meme. heads up that this is gonna be dark and fucked up, but you kind of already knew that from reading the prompt. 
> 
> in case you didn't read the tags, here is your warning that this fic is going to be full of incesty vibes and feels, coated in a really unhealthy relationship. don't like, don't read.

When Clarke finished her makeup, she noticed that her red wig was missing. “Harper, did someone take it?” she huffed.

“New girl, probably.”

Clarke cursed under her breath. Anya had hired a few new girls in the last few weeks, all of them gorgeous though lacking in basic dressing room etiquette. Everyone knew that wig was Clarke’s.

“At least none of their tits are big enough to try to wear one of your outfits,” Harper teased, and a loud snort escaped Clarke. “Borrow Bree’s brunette one. She quit last night.” With a small groan, Clarke used the eyebrow pencil to darken her brows enough to match that wig.

When she was ready to walk out the door, she gave herself another once over. She didn’t look like herself, or at least, she didn’t look like the version of herself that would step out onto that stage. Clarke donned the red hair to look as little like herself as possible, putting on the mask of a fiery, sex-positive woman who didn’t flinch at the way the customers would paw at her. She had gotten so used to that mask that she felt a little lost without it. Her skin looked paler against the long dark hair, her eyes seemed darker. This version of herself didn’t feel right. She looked too much like how Clarke felt, lonely and scared. Desperately wanting to hide behind the bold red wig again.

Clarke shook those thoughts from her mind as she strode out of the dressing room. She was making something out of nothing, seeking out yet another way to be uncomfortable in her own body.

But it didn’t help that she kept catching reflections of herself in the mirrored columns on stage. She’d meet her own dark eyes as she stared down the pole she was about to wrap her legs around. The mirrored walls in the very back of the dimly lit room would force her to confront her own appearance whenever Clarke tried to jerk her eyes away from the men waving ones at her.

She looked vulnerable. Weak. Timid. Less like the confident woman she pretends to be on stage and more like the terrified girl who was barely keeping her head above water.

Vulnerable wasn’t something Clarke let herself feel anymore. Not after her dad died. Not after her mom lost everything when she decided to operate while high on pain killers. There was no space left for feeling vulnerable when Clarke was left to fend for herself at eighteen and began dry humping strangers in the back room just to get by.

So, she kept her eyes on her customers, avoiding the sight of herself like her life depended on it, and faked her way through the performance.

 

* * *

 

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be a stripper,” Cage growled as he gripped her ass. Clarke ceased her movements and raised an eyebrow at him. With a smirk, he pulled another fifty from his wallet. He was easily her least favorite customer, but he always paid extra so he could touch her, so she had mixed feelings every time he asked for her in the back room. It didn’t really matter how she felt about him. He was her only repeat customer, after all. He was her most constant stream of revenue.

“Gotta work somewhere,” she sighed. His cock was painfully hard. Had been since Clarke walked in.

“Still. What would your daddy think if he saw you here?”

Her stomach clenched at the question. But it didn’t matter what her dad would have thought. He’s gone. He couldn’t do a damn thing about it. No one could.

Cage asked her that just to get her pissed off and make her take her frustrations out on him. He knew it was a sore spot. He poked at it every time he got her in this backroom, once even letting her slap him for it.

Clarke jerked Cage’s head back by pulling his hair, and she could feel his cock throb in anticipation. “I could ask you the same question,” she whispered, her lips now hovering just above his throat. “Does your daddy know what a little pervert you are?”

“Fuck,” he whimpered. His hands guided her ass back and forth on his cock, and Clarke kept a firm grip on his hair. “More.”

“You like this, huh? You like paying some slut to give you some attention since no one else will?” Clarke glanced over at the mirror beside the couch. Her legs straddling him as he writhed beneath her. Her pale fingers pulling at his dark hair while a pained expression took over his face. Her red wig bright and striking, a sharp contrast to that other one she wore earlier tonight. Clarke looked good, powerful even.

“I’m gonna—”

Clarke slapped her hand over his mouth, watching his eyes darken with arousal when he locked eyes with her. Cage moaned into her hand, and she let go of his hair to get a steady grip on his shoulders as her hips sped up.

She didn’t look at him as he came. Only made that mistake once, and that time she spent the rest of the day repulsed and itching for a shower.

Her eyes drifted to the peeling red paint on the back wall, wondering if Anya would ever get around to fixing that. Probably not. Customers don’t care about anything in this room except getting off. All fixing it would do is give Clarke a nicer aesthetic to be groped and fondled in.

“You know,” Cage panted, “you could at least pretend to like me.” He pulled out another bill from his wallet, pressing out the creases. “That’s what the other girls do.”

“You like that I’m mean.” Clarke snatched the bill out of his hand before pulling off his lap. “Otherwise, you’d ask for one of the other girls.” And he wouldn’t get off on Clarke calling him a pervert and slapping her hand over his mouth. And he’d certainly stop coming back every week for her. This was what he liked.

Clarke might not be the best-looking girl here or the most talented dancer, but she was damn good at figuring out what the customers craved. Some just wanted a girl with big tits to touch them. Some needed to feel wanted. Cage, whether he realized it or not, wanted honest attention, the kind his wealthy parents were too busy to give him and his girlfriends were too in love with his wallet to be able to provide. Clarke might be the only person on this planet who would tell him to his face what she thinks of him.

She tucked his money into her bra before striding out of the room. The music was louder on the main stage, signaling the beginning of the late-night crowd and the end of Clarke’s shift. She was almost at the dressing room door when Anya called her name out.

“Whatever it is, get one of the new girls to deal with it,” Clarke groaned.

“You got another request,” Anya explained.

“You’re kidding.” Most weeks, Cage was the only person who wanted a private dance with her. Occasionally, a regular would give her a whirl, but he’d never ask for her again. Clarke tried not to let it get under her skin. After all, she wasn’t exactly the skinniest dancer here. She didn’t have Raven’s gorgeous cheekbones or Roma’s seductive eyes. Most nights, she was a placeholder between the club’s favorites. She was no one’s favorite, with the weird exception of Cage. No one actually wanted her, so it was beyond odd that she got two requests in one night.

“Nope. He’s in the blue room.” With a shrug, Clarke made her way in that direction. “Wait, he specifically asked for the brunette wig.”

Right. That would have been what he saw her in. Makes sense it would be his preference. Clarke ducked into the dressing room and made the change, careful not to look too long at her own reflection. She kept her mind busy as she made her way down to the blue room, thinking over which bills she could now cover with an extra cash from this dance and trying to remember if she had anything in her fridge for dinner tonight.

Inside was a man Clarke hadn’t seen around the club before. Her eyes were drawn to his leg that was bouncing nervously, and she let out a breath of relief. This had to be his first time, which meant she had nothing to worry about. He’d be too nervous to try anything.

“Hi,” Clarke said with a big smile as the man took a long gulp of his drink. His hair was full of dark, thick curls, the messy kind that he probably always ran his fingers through.

“Hi,” he stuttered out. His voice was lower than she expected, quieter too. She hooked her phone up to the speaker and got the music going. “So, um, I’ve never done this before.”

“I get to be your first?” Clarke teased, and a small chuckle escaped his lips.

When she started walking toward him, he had cast his drink aside and was running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m…” His eyes drifted down her chest before jerking his gaze back up to meet her eyes, and the cutest blush formed on his cheeks. “Just, uh, what am I supposed to do?” He was very careful to keep eye contact with her this time, and she had to bite her tongue not to giggle at the respectful gesture.

She placed her hand just below his collarbone and gently nudged him until he leaned back against the couch. “You don’t have to do anything,” Clarke whispered. Now that she was closer, she could see a spattering of freckles across his golden skin. It was a soft contrast to his piercing brown eyes and sharp jawline. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” Her legs straddled his lap as she slowly lowered herself down on his lap.

“If you knew me, you’d know that I don’t know how to do that,” he snorted. She pursed her lips together as she slid her palms up his chest. “It’s just… I take care of people, so I don’t really know how to… fuck, I’ll just stop talking.”

“It’s okay.” She tried to meet his eyes again, but he looked away. Clarke moved her hips against his, getting a feel for his half-hard cock. “Can you try for me? Just follow what feels good, okay? I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

It wasn’t uncommon for first-timers to be awkward. Usually, they got into the rhythm of it once Clarke started. But not this one. Clarke could feel him holding back. His lips pressed into a line whenever she grinded down on his growing bulge, often swallowing with a sad look in his eyes.

Clarke changed up tactics. The general sexy dance she tried on all the customers wasn’t what he wanted. So, she nuzzled her face into his neck, letting her lips just hover above his skin as she made her way up his throat toward his jaw. “You feel so big,” she whispered. It was cliché, but effective. His Adam’s apple bobbed in response. She was getting closer. Maybe he just needed to be talked to. “This feel good?” Now, her lips were hovering over his ear and her fingers were playing with the curls by the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” he choked out.

“What’s your name?” She normally didn’t ask, but he seemed like the kind who wanted her to talk to him. It’d be easier if she had a name to moan.

He hesitated. Clarke brought her hips down harder, earning a quiet grunt from him. “Just call me Bell,” he murmured.

“Bell,” she repeated, and he sucked in a shaky breath. Now, they were getting somewhere.

Clarke played around with her dirty talk, figuring out what did and didn’t work on him. Compliments on his appearance didn’t have the kind of effect she wanted, but telling him how wet she was did. Clarke would put him in the category of the men who needed to feel wanted, but it didn’t seem quite right. So, she tested the waters one last time.

“Bell,” she said, pulling back so she looked right at him. “I need you.” The way his eyes darkened and hips jerked told her everything she needed to know about Bell. He didn’t need to feel wanted. He wanted to feel needed.

Clarke kept her hands on his shoulders as she adjusted her hips so that they just grazed his erection. “Fuck,” he huffed. His hands gripped the cushions of the couch, his knuckles turning pale as he tried desperately not to touch her.

When she slammed her hips back down onto his cock, a loud, guttural moan escaped his lips. “That’s it, O.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyes flew open in a panic.

“It’s okay.” Not the first time she had been called someone else’s name in this very room. Must be an ex or some girl he’s hung up on. It’s not like Clarke even went by her real name here anyway.

“No, it’s not.” There was guilt in his eyes, bordering on anger with himself… all because he called some stripper he doesn’t know the wrong name.

“It is,” she reassured to make that dark, lost look in his eyes disappear. She slid her palms over his tense shoulders, trying to lull him into letting it go. “I can be whoever you need me to be.” Bell opened his mouth to protest, but Clarke pressed a single finger over his lips before he could. “Please, Bell,” she whispered, and his breath hitched. “It’s our secret. No one has to know.”

His eyes bored into hers as she shifted her hips again, his cock achingly hard beneath her. He was still too tense, but he was slowly easing back into her touch.

“So good, Bell,” she moaned into his ear, grinning smugly when he grunted in response. That’s it. He’s almost relaxed again. “All big and hard for me.”

“All for you—” He cut himself off, and she knew he was about to call her O again but stopped himself.

“It’s okay,” she repeated again as she ran her fingers through his impossibly soft curls. “Let me be who you need. Call me that name again.”

“O,” he choked out.

“That’s it, Bell,” she murmured right into his ear. “Take what you need.”

His breathing grew ragged with each time he whispered that name, his hips jerking up into her when she would moan in response. And it didn’t matter how she grinded on him because it was the gentle touches to his face and hair that had him growling so low that she could feel the vibrations throughout his skin.

Anya’s warning knock on the door jerked him upright, and Clarke realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the time. “We still have a few more minutes,” she told him.

“No, it’s okay. We should probably, uh, wrap this up,” he stuttered out.

Her stomach clenched at his words, her need to please everyone around her going unfulfilled. Her mind was already going over all the moments where she might have screwed up or just not been as good as he needed while she climbed off his lap. Something she was doing was wrong, otherwise he’d be thrilled to take advantage of the last few minutes. Or maybe she was just wrong.

He pulled the cash from his back pocket, handing it to her without even meeting her eyes. At least that way he wouldn’t see the way her eyes fell. She took it, pressing her lips in a fine line as he made his way to the door. Bell didn’t even look back at her before shutting the door behind him.

She waited thirty seconds before darting toward the dressing room, slamming the door shut before Anya or a customer saw her eyes watering. But as soon as she leaned back against the cold, metal door, she saw herself in the full-length mirror across from her. She had forgotten all about the brunette wig that did nothing to distract from the terrified, lonely eyes staring back at her. The stark contrast with her skin made her look like a ghost. And Clarke was a ghost. She was no longer the smart, perfect daughter of an engineer and a doctor, not the girl whose future looked bright and full of possibilities. She was hollow now, just a vessel for Cage Wallace to get off on once a week and a thing to throw money at when none of the attractive strippers were available. Alone. With no one to look out for her or to even notice if something happened to her. A ghost of who she used to be.

Clarke ripped off the wig and shoved it into her locker, vowing never to put it on again. It spoke too much truth to her, and she needed to lie to herself as much as possible if she was going to make it through this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy independence day time to get weird

It was a shitty day. Started with Clarke’s visit to see her mom in rehab where the only thing Abby Griffin wanted to talk about was how Clarke was doing in school… which was a problem since Clarke was lying about being in school in the first place. She had been meaning to look into community college classes, but she just doesn’t have the time or money for it. So, Clarke spent her morning lying her ass off to her mom, making up elaborate stories about how her art teacher sees a lot of potential in her and maybe next semester Clarke might try to enter this school sponsored art competition. Her mom’s eyes lit up with every word, like Clarke’s fictional life was the only good news her mom gets… which she was pretty sure was the case.

The visit ran late, so Clarke didn’t get lunch before work. Her stomach growled as she put on her false eyelashes, and her hunger just made her foul mood worse. She wanted to bite Roma’s head off every time she mentioned feeling so fat after that huge breakfast she had. She kept pouting in front of the mirror, resting her hand over her flat stomach waiting for everyone else to tell her how hot she was.

And then, just when Clarke figured the day wouldn’t get worse, Cage showed up, somehow already drunk in the middle of the day. He groped any girl that got close enough, including Clarke quite a few times. The bouncer normally throws them out when they get this belligerent, but nobody wants to piss Cage off considering how much business he and his friends have given them. Anya wanted to use a gentler touch.

“Why the fuck do I have to deal with him?” Clarke huffed, looking around the room. There were maybe three customers here right now, the post lunch lull. It wasn’t like Clarke would lose much money by dealing with him, but still. He was the last person she needed to deal with today.

“Because he likes you. Just flirt a little and take him into the back and make him take a nap on the couch,” she sighed.

With a groan, Clarke stomped off toward him. He was trying to get Harper’s attention, slurring his words as he called up to the stage. “Cage,” Clarke snapped, and his head whipped around in her direction. A huge smile formed on his lips. “Leave Harper alone.”

“Baby, you jealous?” he chuckled, leaning toward her so far in his seat that he almost fell. Begrudgingly, she caught him. She wanted to go off on him, to tell him that he’s a piece of shit and a creep… but that would only make him more belligerent.

So, she did what Clarke does best. She lied. “Yes,” she said with a small pout. And his grin turned lecherous as Clarke helped him to his feet. “Why don’t you come in the back with me, huh?”

“See, you always trying to act like you don’t want this,” he slurred, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. His mouth rested by her ear, breathing too heavily. “But you just can’t stay away from me, baby.”

Clarke faked a smile as she nearly carried Cage toward the back. Harper shot her a thankful look as they passed the stage, and Clarke tried to shoot her a real smile but it came off as a grimace because Cage kept trying to talk dirty in her ear. As soon as they turned the corner, Cage slammed his mouth onto hers, his wet tongue shoving its way into her mouth.

She pushed him off her, struggling not to gag at the taste of cheap vodka in her mouth. She hated drunk men. And most men in general.

The red room was open, so Clarke dropped him on the closest couch. “Now, you got me all alone,” he murmured, trying to sit up. She pushed him back down, and his dazed eyes struggled to locate her. “Always knew you wanted to fuck me.” His eyes fell shut, and Clarke kept her hand on his shoulder to hold him down so he didn’t get up.

He mumbled a few more crude things to Clarke, but after a few minutes, he was fast asleep.

Clarke beelined toward the bar, heading straight for the whiskey. “You’re not supposed to drink on the clock,” Roan warned as he poured a drink for a customer.

“I need to sanitize my mouth because Cage just shoved his tongue into it,” she muttered as she poured herself a shot.

“Fuck, make it a double,” he replied before turning back to the customer. “Want to close out your tab?”

Clarke downed the shot before pouring herself another. Whiskey was basically lunch, right?

“No, not yet.” Her head snapped up at that low, rumbling voice. And there was the customer that ran out on her, Bell. Her cheeks turned pink at the memory, and she turned her head away from him before he recognized her. Without the brunette wig, he probably wouldn’t realize it was her, anyway.

She took the second shot and got back out there, trying to forget those sad dark eyes that have been lingering in her mind ever since he first asked for a private dance. But all hope she had that Bell didn’t recognize her went out the window when she looked back in his direction and caught him staring at her from the bar.

 

* * *

 

“Blue room. He requested the brunette wig again,” Anya said. Clarke froze, a large knot forming in her stomach. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope,” she muttered as she pulled the brunette wig from her locker. Clarke had to brush it out a bit first since she had carelessly tossed it into the locker earlier.

It took a few minutes to get her nerves under control, which was ridiculous. He was just another customer. Nothing special. Another guy who is thinking about fucking someone else while Clarke rubs her body all over him.

But there was something different about this one… different enough to throw Clarke’s confidence off when he ran out on her. She knew him for less than an hour and he managed to feed her need for validation while simultaneously tossing her aside without explanation. It brought up every dark, hideous insecurity buried inside her, made her feel sick in a way that no other customer in this job had. Usually, Clarke couldn’t give a fuck if a customer didn’t find her attractive. It meant less chance of being pawed at. But he didn’t seem like the creepy or drunk guys that bought time with her in a back room. He just seemed lonely and like he needed someone. So this stupid, naïve part of her was thrilled to get to see him again, like she thought this time she might be enough for him.

If Clarke could afford a therapist, they would tell her just how fucked up this whole thing was.

Bell sat in the same spot, his legs bouncing nervously as she strode in. Clarke didn’t say anything this time as she got the music on, and neither did he.

She started by running her hands up and down his thighs slowly, letting her thumbs press hard against his inner thighs. When her thumbs grazed the crotch of his jeans, she arched her back, giving him a better view of her tits.

“About last time,” he whispered, and Clarke’s head jerked up. “Was it okay that I called you O?”

“Yeah, it was okay. And you can now, if you want.” He let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, and uh, I have another question.” A small smile formed on her lips. He was like a kid raising his hand up for permission to ask a question. She raised her eyebrows expectantly toward him while trailing her fingers down toward his knee. “I read that if I paid more, I can touch you. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Cool, cool. Can I do that?” She couldn’t help but giggle as she nodded. He pulled out another bill from his wallet and set it out on the seat beside him. Clarke straddled his legs, resting a knee on either side of him, and almost jumped when his warm hands ran up her legs. “So, this is okay?”

“It’s okay, Bell.” The second she said his name, his grip on her thighs tightened.

“Fuck, O,” he growled. His voice rumbled through his chest, sending a small chill through Clarke.

Clarke ran her hands down his chest as she slowly bounced in his lap. His warm hands burned against her skin, and for once, it felt nice. Just like last time, Clarke stopped counting down the minutes until this would be over. For a moment, it didn’t feel like her job.

“I missed you,” she whined, letting her lips rest against his jawline as she speaks. He swallowed hard. She nosed her way up his neck until her mouth was right by his ear and then slid her hands into his hair. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes, fuck,” he groaned, and her stomach fluttered. He thought about her too. Well, probably not Clarke, but the girl he pretended she is. Still. It counted as far as Clarke was concerned. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Clarke closed her eyes as his hands slid up her waist. She leaned back and pushed out her chest. That’s what he really wanted to see anyway. When she opened her eyes again, his dark gaze was fixed on her chest but his hands wouldn’t move.

“You can touch me there too,” she whispered. His eyes lit up for a brief moment before the hesitation crept back in. It reminded her too much of the look in his eyes right before he ran out on her. Clarke grabbed his hand and pulled them up to her breast. She guided him into a rough, hard squeeze, watching the hesitation slowly fade away. “I need it, Bell.”

Those words seemed to be her most powerful weapon against him. She wondered if this O person he’s so in love with knew that she had this power over him. That all she had to do was say that she needed him, and he would do anything for her.

Clarke would kill to have someone love her like that. Though she knew next to nothing about this O girl, Clarke hated her. Right here was a man who loved O, who would give her anything she wanted, and who longed for her love so badly that he’s paying a stripper to pretend he is loved in return.

Yeah, Clarke hated O. But she also wanted to be her. She wanted what O has thrown away.

His first squeezes to her breasts were gentle, as if he was still nervous. But after Clarke started moaning, he gripped and plucked at them like the touch starved man he is. His hands threatened to consume her, groping at her with a desperation that left her breathless.

“That’s it,” she whimpered, and his hips jerked again. Bell’s erection is painfully hard against his jeans. “You’re so big,” Clarke told him while she rubbed her covered cunt over the bulge in his pants. “I don’t know if you could fit.”

He cursed under his breath. One hand let go of her breast and gripped her ass. It was like her hips weren’t moving fast enough because he started guiding her movements.

“You’ll stretch for me. You need me to fill up that cunt, don’t you?” Her head fell to his shoulder as the breath was knocked out of her. Gone was the shy boy who was worried about calling her the wrong name, and in was Bell with a mouth filthy enough to make Clarke’s cunt clench around nothing.

“Uh huh,” was all she could choke out. He didn’t seem to care. He was jerking against her in earnest now, guiding her exactly how he needed her. He growled and grunted underneath her, his hand finding its way into her hair. Well, not her hair. The wig. The one thing about Clarke that reminded him of O.

“Octavia, shit.” What an odd name. But then again, he goes by Bell. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. “O, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Clarke whispered. “Come on, Bell.”

His hips stuttered into her and he buried his face into her shoulder. Bell’s broken breathing fanned out across her skin, sending goosebumps down her arms.

Clarke thread her fingers through his hair again, gently petting him as he came down. She didn’t do this for Cage. Or any of the customers who bought time with her in the back rooms. Clarke was usually too repulsed by them and was counting down the seconds until she could jump off them. But with Bell, she found herself eyeing the clock and wondering if they had time to stay like this for a few minutes. They didn’t, and her chest tightened at the realization.

But she knew what this was. It was a fantasy. Usually just for the customer, but with Bell, it was for Clarke too. For a few minutes, she got to be Octavia, the luckiest yet most ungrateful girl in the world. In this room, Clarke got to be loved. As someone else, sure. But it’s not like she has felt like the real Clarke in years. She might as well accept being loved as someone else. There’s no one left who would love the broken version of Clarke she has become.

When Anya knocked on the door, Clarke pulled off him. Bell’s eyes flickered up to hers, looking simultaneously wrecked and flustered. She bit down on her lip as she waited for him to run off again, but despite being flustered, Bell took his time getting to his feet. He wasn’t running away this time, and her heart stuttered at the realization.

“So, um,” he mumbled. His eyes darted back to the cash still sitting on the couch before looking back at her. She let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t awkwardly hand it to her. One less thing to remind her this was a transaction. “I don’t want you to, uh, get uncomfortable, but would you be okay if we did this again sometime?”

It was hardly romantic. Just another customer wanting to use her. Clarke shouldn’t read anything into it. But she did. Her heart rate picked up, and something warm pooled in the bottom of her belly. Someone wanted her. Someone finally wanted her enough to come back.

“Of course,” she replied a little too quickly. “Whenever you want.”

He blinked a few times before asking, “Do you work every night?” His brows were furrowed, more discerning than relaxed now.

“Uh, I usually get Mondays and Wednesday nights off.” She wasn’t supposed to tell him that. It’s not a rule or anything, more of a safety precaution. But he didn’t strike her as the kind of customer she had to worry about. “Been taking on more afternoons, though.”

“Must be hard to go to school with that kind of schedule,” he replied, running his hand through his hair.

It was an odd comment. An erroneously presumptuous one. Maybe it’s just her age. She should be in college right now. She supposed it wasn’t too far of a stretch for him to assume this job was how she paid for it.

“I don’t go to school. Can’t afford it. Maybe one day, though,” she corrected.

Bell cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at her. He had this way of looking right through her that made her feel so naked. But for once, that didn’t scare her. It felt comforting in an odd way. Someone was seeing her.

“Hope you can one day. You’d probably like it.” He ducked his head and shook it slightly. “Anyway, thanks, um, for that. I’ll see you next time.”

 _Next time_.

She liked the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> [ I'm on dreamwidth! ](https://persephades.dreamwidth.org/)


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